


Murder in the Cathedral

by MonkeyBard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 20:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeyBard/pseuds/MonkeyBard
Summary: Going after a serial killer in Edinburgh.





	Murder in the Cathedral

**Author's Note:**

> Date: 25 July 2019  
> JWP #25: More Words, Phrases, and All the Things: Use at least three of the following words and phrases in your work today. Use all of them, and you’re halfway to the All the Words bonus point for this year.  
> 1\. Blood  
> 2\. Thunder  
> 3\. The British workman  
> 4\. Rain  
> 5\. Bullet  
> 6\. "What is it? A fire?"  
> 7\. Vox populi, vox dei  
> 8\. Dread  
> 9\. Grotesque  
> 10\. Horror  
> 11\. Malapert

The rain lashing the windows of Edinburgh’s City Centre police station gave the darkened world outside a grotesque, distorted appearance. Thunder followed a bright flash of lightning. DI Marquardson sat at her desk poring over the files of her current case. The killer was clearly mad; his “voce mea vox dei” declaration was enough to convince her of that. “So much for vox populi,” she muttered.  
  
She glanced up to see Lestrade through the interior office windows, coming down the hallway towards her. The killer had started in London before moving north to Edinburgh, so he’d come here to liaise with her team. And naturally he’d brought Sherlock Holmes and John Watson with him, but that pair was not currently in evidence. She was glad. She’d worked with them enough to know she much preferred Sherlock’s company over drinks rather than over deductions.  
  
“What is it?” she asked before Lestrade was completely through the door, a sense of dread in her belly.  
  
“New victim. Same MO. Single bullet each to the head and hands.”  
  
The killer was targeting British workmen assigned to restoration projects at various old churches and cathedrals. And Britain had a lot of those.  
  
“Where this time?”  
  
“St. Giles.”  
  
“Let’s go.”  
  
***  
  
It was dodgy going in the sheeting rain but at least at that hour few cars were on the streets. Marquardson and Lestrade arrived at the police line almost the same moment as John and Sherlock, which was fortunate since Marquardson’s DS wasn’t a fan of the Londoners in general and Sherlock in particular.  
  
“It’s all right, Crozier, they’re with me.” She approached the crime scene tape line. “Is Forensics inside?”  
  
“No,” he answered. “They radioed an ETA earlier. Should be another five minutes.”  
  
“Send them in the moment they arrive.” She gestured Lestrade and the others past the tape and followed.  
  
Inside the cathedral wasn’t the horror show she’d half expected. Blood splatters, of course, as well as brains, but the body lay in a position of peaceful repose.  
  
“Placed that way after the fact,” Lestrade commented. “Just like the others.”  
  
She turned to Sherlock. “You heard Crozier. You’ve less than five minutes to observe everything you can.”  
  
Sherlock began his routine and Marquardson stood close to listen and make notes. Meanwhile, John and Lestrade fanned out to see what else they might turn up.  
  
John poked his head outside a dark, little-used doorway and spotted the detritus of human habitation under the limited stone overhang. “Hey, Greg?” he called back inside.  
  
Lestrade jogged over to join him. “What is it?”  
  
“A fire. Or the remains of one anyway. Recent, too. Looks like someone’s been sleeping rough out back here.”  
  
“Then it’s possible they saw or heard something. We find them and we might just have a witness.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’ll let Marquardson know.”  
  
The pair moved back inside where Sherlock was sharing his observations, laden with disparaging comments about her own observational skills, with Marquardson who wasn’t nearly as patient an audience as John or Greg.  
  
“All right in here?” Lestrade asked, sensing Sherlock was in danger of sending Marquardson into a red-hazed rage.  
  
“It will be if you can get Mr. Malapert here to stick to the facts of the scene.” She glared at Sherlock. “Your opinions beyond the facts are of no value nor interest to me or anyone else.”  
  
Affronted, Sherlock protested, “I was merely—”  
  
“Nobody cares.” She leaned in and pointed to her face. “Look at my face. This is the face of a woman who has no fucks to give what you were ‘merely’. You’re good at your job. So do that job and otherwise keep your gob shut.”  
  
John stifled an amused snort behind a badly faked cough. “Sorry. Construction dust.”  
  
“We found something outside,” said Lestrade. “Sherlock, are you done in here?”  
  
“Yes,” he replied stiffly.  
  
“Good. Come see what you can observe out back.”  
  
“You go with him, Greg,” said Marquardson. “Take notes for me. I’m going to see what’s keeping Forensics.” She strode purposefully towards the cathedral’s main doors where they’d entered.  
  
No one needed Sherlock’s skills to observe it was an excuse to get away from him for a minute.  
  
“You want to tread lightly there,” Lestrade advised Sherlock. “The only thing that would make her temper more dangerous is red hair. Come on. I’ll show you what John found. John, stay with the body.”  
  
It wasn’t going anywhere, but John nodded. He knew he was really there to settle any remaining ruffled feathers when Marquardson returned. “Will do.”


End file.
